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Chylde Owlet 
Chylde Owlet 
Lady Erskine sits in her bower A sewing her silken seam A bonnie sark for Chylde Owlet As he gangs oot and in 
His face was fair, lang was his hair She's ca'd him to come nigh Oh ye maun cuckold Lord Ronald For a' his lands and kye 
Oh lady, hold your tongue for shame That such a thing e'er be done How could I cuckold Lord Ronald And me his sister's son 
Then she's ta'en oot a wee penknife That lay beside her bed And pricked hersel below her breist Which made her body bleed 
Lord Ronald's come into her bower Whaur she did mak' her mane Oh, wha's is a' this blood, he says That sparks on your hearth stane? 
Young Chylde Owlet, your sister's son Is new gane frae my bower Gin I hadnae been a good woman I'd hae been Chylde Owlet's whore 
Then he has ta'en young Chylde Owlet Cast him in prison strang And a his men a council held To work Chylde Owlet wrang 
Some said Chylde Owlet should be hung Some said that he should burn Some said they would hae Chylde Owlet Between wild horses torn 
There are horses in my stable stand 
Can rin richt speedily It's ye maun tae my stable gang And wile oot four far me 
They've put a horse to ilka foot and ain tae ilka hand And sent them oot ower Elkin Moor As fast as they could gang 
There wasnae grass nor heather knowe Nor broom nor bonnie whin But drappit wi' Chylde Owlet's blood And pieces o' his skin 
There wasnae stane on Elkin Moor Nor yet a piece o' rush But drappit wi' Chylde Owlet's blood And pieces o' his flesh 
Child #291 recorded by Peggy Seeger and Ewan MacColl on Blood & Roses SOF